


be your own deceiver

by starboykeith



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Crying, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mild Angst, Missing Scene, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 14:05:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11899320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starboykeith/pseuds/starboykeith
Summary: “You look like my Shiro,” Keith says without thinking, and flushes. “I mean – the Shiro from our universe.”“Your Shiro,” Sven repeats, as though tasting the words in his mouth, and Keith looks away. “You look like someone I once knew, as well.”





	be your own deceiver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimmu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimmu/gifts).



> thank you so much kimmu, i hope you enjoy it!
> 
> (even though it broke my heart.....i love)
> 
> title from dangerous by son lux

This is a situation Keith’s never been in, and one he sincerely hopes he’ll never be in again.

“You're taking away their free will,” he points out. It comes out colder than he'd intended, because it's so hard to remain diplomatic when what's being presented to him is the concept of galaxy-wide  _slavery_. He glances at Allura, hoping for support, but her wide eyes are fixed on Hira, face lit with awe and hands clasped tightly in front of her like she's trying not to wring them in excitement.

And Keith can't deny her that, he really can't. If he'd lost his entire species - well, if he lost all humans, at least - he'd cling to any bit of false hope the universe offered him, too.

“The same will that would end your life with no remorse,” Hira replies, and her voice is cold, monotone. Indifferent. “Thanks to us, no innocent will lose its life to the free will of an evil being.”

Keith has to swallow his instinctual outburst, and it burns him up inside. Sure, he'd always admired Shiro's diplomacy, but knowing how hard it is gives him a new appreciation for the skill; having to bite his tongue concerning issues of slave labour was something he never saw himself having to do. Hira turns away from him, uninterested, and Keith doesn’t know how to force the subject without provoking some kind of altercation.

He feels uncomfortable without a way to keep time, and glances at the door. Surely the others shouldn’t have been gone this long.

That, and Keith’s heart is still slamming against his ribs because – it had been  _Shiro_.

His body hadn’t known how to react at first: he’d frozen, a sick feeling churning in his stomach and panic clawing up his throat, and deactivating his bayard had been an instinctive movement, but it had been Shiro and for one, stupid second, Keith had had hope.

Everything in him is humming, restless, needing to move, needing to question; it’s too much all of a sudden, and Keith exhales a harsh breath and turns to Allura, interrupting Hira before she opens her mouth.

“Allura,” he says, and stammers for a moment, heart thumping. “I’m going to check on the others.”

Allura looks desperately torn, but Hira interrupts, “Empress Allura, let me show you something,” and she’s letting Hira turn her away, a wistful expression on her face. She winces every time she’s called ‘Empress,’ but Keith can tell the prospect of other surviving Alteans – a whole  _universe_ of Alteans – is coming first, blinding her.

Something isn’t sitting right with Keith, but he nods to himself and lurches from the room, catching himself just before he stumbles. The doors slide shut behind him and he leans heavily on the wall, closing his eyes.

He had intended to check on the others, but it makes him feel sick all over again to think of Sven, to have seen Shiro’s face on someone else’s body, with someone else’s voice, someone else’s  _personality_. Hearing a different accent come out of Shiro’s mouth had jarred him more than he’d like to admit, but some small, traitorous part of him thinks it doesn’t matter, even though it's undoubtedly a different person, a different  _Shiro_.

Keith wonders what kind of situation would be dire enough that Shiro had learned to work with Slav as his companion, thinks of both Sven and Slav hissing, “ _Altean_ ,” at Allura like an insult and wonders if perhaps this universe isn’t as peaceful as these Alteans are insisting.

He isn’t sure how long he leans against the wall, eyes closed, letting his racing heart rate slow, but he nearly jumps out of his skin when a panel beside him opens. The crack of the metal has Keith reaching for his bayard, but a hand grasps his wrist and yanks him through a previously-invisible door before he can.

Keith’s opening his mouth to say something, but all the breath leaves his lungs when he looks up at his would-be abductor and sees Shiro’s face.

“Sven,” he says after a moment, voice weighted. Sven regards him with eyes just as heavy with significance.

There’s an electronic panel open in the opposite wall, wires spilling like guts and various tools scattered beneath where Sven had been working. Keith wonders how Sven knew he’d been there, and then suspicion hits him; Sven had been right outside the room where he, Allura and Hira had been conversing.

“What are you doing in here?” he asks sharply, no matter the pathetic part of him that wants to be soft with Shiro. It’s clear that Sven and Slav are working against the Alteans – against the Altean  _empire_ , Keith supposes – and with Allura co-operating with Hira just one room away, Keith should be discouraging that, even turning Sven and Slav in.

He can’t do it.

“Maintenance,” Sven says, and he’s just as good at lying as Shiro is; that is to say, not at all.

“Sure,” Keith says, automatically slipping into a playful tone, and he burns with embarrassment as Sven’s eyes narrow.

Sven seems to be content pretending he didn’t hear, and Keith relaxes as he continues, but it’s a stab in the heart to hear, “You are the red paladin of Voltron?”

“I – no,” Keith manages, and Sven’s gaze drops to his armour, making Keith feel strangely vulnerable. “I’m the black paladin. The – the leader.” He coughs. “You know Voltron?”

“That is how the Alteans conquered the universe,” Sven says, and he turns away from Keith, heading back over to the gaping wall panel. Keith follows, and when Sven kneels on the floor, turning his back and leaving himself defenceless, Keith deactivates his bayard, deciding it isn’t necessary.

For now, he reassures himself. Of course he could take Sven out if necessary.

“Conquered?”

“The full story is not known,” Sven tells him, “because of course the Alteans are the ones who write the history, and we cannot trust their truth.”

Keith hesitates, and then sits beside Sven, peering at the circuits – and Sven is definitely  _disconnecting_  cables, not fixing them, but Keith pretends not to notice that, or the way Sven is sneaking glances at him out of the corner of his eye.

“The non-cogs,” Keith starts, and Sven stiffens, “they – it sounds like their minds are just. Scrambled. Destroyed.”

“The Alteans call it neutralising a threat,” Sven says carefully. “But it is scrambling the mind; they take away the will, and it creates slaves to serve in the Altean Empire.”

“So, if they have no free will – “

“It is peace at the sake of freedom.” It sounds like a phrase Sven has said many times before, and Keith wants,  _needs_  to know more, for their sake, for Allura’s sake, being taken in by Hira’s lies, but Keith’s blindsided when Sven says, “You called me Shiro.”

He’s put his tools aside, and as Keith watches, he seals the panel using a device that extends from the arm of his suit.

They’re going to talk, Keith realises.

“You look like my Shiro,” he says without thinking, and flushes. “I mean – the Shiro from our universe.”

“Your Shiro,” Sven repeats, as though tasting the words in his mouth, and Keith looks away. “You look like someone I once knew, as well.”

Keith wants to feel triumphant, wants to feel awed – he and Shiro are together in many universes, and it makes him feel warm, makes his tongue trip over the word  _soulmate_.

But all that bubbles in his heart is the cold, bitter awareness that he doesn’t  _have_  Shiro anymore, can’t tell him all about the alternate reality, can’t come home to him, because he’s gone. Keith guesses that Sven lost his Keith as well, and there’s a sinking feeling in his chest because  _maybe we’re not meant to be together after all_.

Sven’s gaze is fixed unerringly on him, and Keith wants to ask about his counterpart more than anything, wants to prod at the wistful, pained look in Sven’s eyes, but he knows how he’d react if Sven asked too much about Shiro. But there’s a part of him that wants that, too, to be able to talk about Shiro to someone who  _knows_  him.

He’s only assuming, but it’s impossible to conceive of a universe where he doesn’t love Shiro, doesn’t try his unsustainable best to be with him, save him, love him.

“How did you lose your Keith?”

Something flickers behind Sven’s eyes, but it’s gone before Keith can identify it. “He was impulsive and reckless,” he says easily, and his tone carries the same fondness Shiro’s did when he reprimanded Keith on his less tolerable characteristics. “And he fought for what he believed in. He,” Sven pauses, just for a moment, gaze dropping, but he returns to Keith’s face when he says, “saved my life. I could never repay him.”

He holds Keith’s gaze, steady and reassuring, with something flaring beneath the surface. It must have been some time ago, Keith thinks, because he knows that he wouldn’t be able to talk about Shiro’s loss – Shiro’s  _disappearance_ , without breaking down. He can’t imagine the horror, the guilt, the agony he would feel if Shiro saved him,  _died_  for him, but Sven’s expression tells him it was long enough ago that he’s come to terms with it, has learned to live without his Keith. Keith can’t imagine himself adopting this – this quiet  _acceptance_.

Their knees are touching, Keith realises suddenly, their faces too close, and he stares into the storm in Shiro’s grey eyes and feels his heart stutter in his chest. He licks his lips, a nervous compulsion, and Sven’s gaze drops to his mouth.

“Where is your Shiro?” he asks quietly, and Keith looks away.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says shortly, and then, more hesitant, gaze flickering back to Sven’s, hoping he’s got this right, “I don’t want to talk.”

Keith isn't sure who leans in first; all he knows is the press of a warm mouth against his own and his fingers sliding into dark hair, gloved hands on his waist pulling him closer.

Sven kisses like Shiro does.

The realisation makes Keith kiss harder, deeper, anything to prolong the familiarity, that if he closes his eyes he can pretend he's kissing Shiro – if he  _opens_  his eyes he can pretend, too; just too-long hair and no scar across the nose –

“Keith,” Sven says breathlessly, pulling them apart, and the spell is broken.

The sight of Sven’s eyes – _Shiro’s_ eyes – filled with such concern is almost enough to break Keith, and he tears his gaze away, staring at the wall just over Sven’s shoulder, heart racing.

“I am not your Shiro,” Sven says, and it _hurts_.

“You could be,” spills from Keith's mouth, and he closes his eyes, embarrassed and hating himself for it. He forces himself to look, to look in those eyes. “I'm not your Keith, but I – “

“You could be,” Sven says, very quietly.

This time they both lean in and crash together in a kiss desperate and messy and pulling at everything Keith has tried so hard to lock down; the gaping wound Shiro left in his chest yawns wider and Keith gasps, hands pressing at Sven’s back, wanting him closer, closer,  _closer_  –

“Do you want,” Sven murmurs, hot against Keith’s mouth and Keith tilts his head up as Sven moves to kiss his jaw, mouthing just above the neck of his bodysuit, and Keith wants a mark there, doesn’t care if the others see, if they judge, just wants Shiro’s lips and teeth and tongue to mark his skin one last time.

Keith doesn’t let him finish, blurts out, “Yes,” and curls his fingers tight in Sven’s hair, clasping his head there as he sucks a mark, and Keith thinks of looking in the mirror later, of having a real, tangible reminder of his mistake – the mistake he’s continuing to make, the mistake he wouldn’t change for the world in his vast selfishness – and that he had Shiro, just this once.

Sven isn’t deterred, continues, “Let me have you, will you, please,” and Keith wonders if Sven is a little broken too.

And it’s wrong, it’s so wrong and it’s not Shiro but it  _is_  and Keith is the first to reach and pull at his breastplate, tossing it to the side and watching Sven’s gaze drop to the tight fabric of the bodysuit underneath. He wonders if Sven’s Keith had broad shoulders and a little waist, wonders if Sven liked how much of Keith’s waist he could enclose with his hands, wonders if Sven held his Keith’s hips as he fucked him.

He pushes impatiently at his armour until it falls to the floor in pieces, kicking his boots away, tearing at his bodysuit and then he's bare to Sven's heated gaze, pushing up on his elbows. Sven hadn’t moved, just watched, wide-eyed and flushed. His fingers twitch like he wants to touch, and Keith arches a little more, letting his voice go low as he says, “Come on.”

That’s all it takes for Sven to start discarding his armour, yanking at his zip and stepping out of the suit in one fluid motion, and Keith hardly has time to glance over him – less scarred, but still a body that sees war every day, still Shiro’s – before Sven’s climbing over him, pressing Keith’s legs apart and settling between them, kissing Keith hot and hard like he never wants to stop.

Keith starts squirming eventually, works his hand between them and takes Sven in hand, listening hard for the bitten-off gasp and he smirks when he feels it against his neck, swelling smug and bitter all at once.

 _Predictable_ , he thinks when Sven’s cock twitches in his hand, when Sven lets Keith push him over onto his back, the way he clutches helplessly at Keith’s hair as Keith kisses a path down his chest.

He knows the way Sven breathes, “ _Keith_ ,” better than anything else in the world, knows the thick weight of him heavy on his tongue makes him dizzy, makes his jaw ache, knows just how to bob his head and tongue at the slit until Sven is panting, whining low in his throat and pulling Keith’s hair the way he likes.

Keith hums, listens to Sven curse under his breath and start to say Keith’s name, and then Keith swallows around him, breathing hard through his nose and swallowing again and again as Sven cries out and comes, spilling down Keith’s throat and gripping Keith’s hair so hard it brings tears to Keith’s eyes.

He lets Sven pull him up afterwards, lets Sven lick the taste of himself out of his mouth, and Keith ruts against Sven’s thigh, eyes trained on his collarbone and avoiding his gaze, but Sven tips his chin up.

“Keith,” he says, and his eyes are sad and Keith shakes his head.

“I’m fine,” he says, and hisses when Sven’s fingers close around his cock.

“Good,” Sven murmurs, and Keith may have just sucked him off, seen him come, but it’s still astounding to see all the little similarities, too; the way Shiro could go from concerned to sultry in the blink of an eye echoed in Sven as he thumbs at Keith’s cheekbone and says, “I want to eat you out.”

Keith can’t hide his sharp intake of breath, the heat flooding his face, and he can’t help nodding either, helpless as always to whatever Shiro –  _Sven_ wants.

And God, he wants it, too.

He’s clean, he knows he’s clean, and he swears to himself that’s the only reason he’s allowing this, because Sven asked and Keith’s prepared and he can’t, won’t say no.

Sven pulls all the way back, lets Keith get on hands and knees, and Keith can tell he’ll hurt later, leaning on the cold metal floor, uncaring of the rub of skin against metal when he’s arching his back, tipping his hips up and spreading his legs as far as he can, already panting when Sven’s hands come to his ass and spread him open, just a little.

“Sven,” he says, already breathless, and cries out hoarsely when Sven licks a hard stripe over his hole. He doesn’t tease like Shiro would, doesn’t waste time tonguing and pressing at Keith’s rim until Keith’s begging for it. Instead Sven starts hard and fast, licking at Keith until he's sloppy with spit, dripping between his thighs, and it’s so messy Keith goes red, so hard tears spring to his eyes as Sven presses a little firmer, tongue driving Keith to distraction and grip unyielding, leaving Keith no leverage even as he tries desperately to thrust into the touch.

And it feels so  _good_  to cry, to let tears sting his eyes and pour down his cheeks, and they may be from pleasure but it soothes the ache too, relieving the sucking pressure of that black void inside him, the place where Shiro belonged and promised he would never leave.

“Oh God,” Keith chokes out, and his voice cracks, “oh fuck, Sh - Sven – “

He wonders if this was the other Keith's favourite too, if he liked to be eaten out until he was sobbing, if Sven liked doing that to him.

Shiro liked doing it.

Shiro loved the way Keith would tremble when he whispered, “Let me eat you out, baby?” and Keith could only nod, the way Keith would lose all his composure and sob and beg, the way Keith could come all over the sheets untouched if Shiro really went for it.

And Sven  _is_ , spreading Keith's cheeks wide with one hand and working his tongue inside, sloppy and wet, and with his other hand he's rubbing Keith's hole, an agonising touch when Keith's so spread open like this, and Keith drops his head and moans when Sven works the tip of his finger in.

He reminds himself furiously they don't have any lube, but it doesn't stop him craving,  _needing_  Sven's fingers inside him, wanting his cock, wanting to be so full he can't breathe.

Sven's right hand rests on his hip, and it feels wrong, warm and whole and  _flesh_  where it should be slowly-heating metal, chilling Keith's skin and making him jump every time but at least it was familiar, at least it was Shiro, and Keith shakes all over again with guilt and shame and an equally demanding need.

“Please,” Keith manages at last, and he doesn’t even care enough to be embarrassed at his begging – Shiro always called him  _easy_ , and Keith is easy, easy for Shiro in every reality – but he still moans when Sven withdraws, thumb rubbing a soothing circle where he’s gripping Keith’s ass.

“I can’t,” Sven says quietly, and Keith is reminded they’re in a maintenance room, utterly unprepared and without supplies, somewhere probably only touched when repairs were needed.

And Keith needs.

“Fuck my thighs,” slips from his mouth without conscious thought, and Sven responds in much the same way, moving close to Keith and kneeling without even replying, humming in satisfaction as Keith shuts his legs tight, lets Sven slip his cock between his thighs and thrust, dragging hard against where he’d just had his tongue, against where Keith is wet and open but not open enough for what he  _really_ wants.

“Fuck,” Sven mutters, accent making the word harsh and sharp, and Keith moans, fingers splaying wide on the floor. “That’s it,” Sven whispers next, a note of praise in his voice making Keith arch his back higher, clench his thighs tighter. Shiro hadn’t done this often, had preferred to fuck him, to press deep inside until they were as close as two beings could be, and though Keith would give anything to have that again, he’s somehow grateful he and Sven have nothing to slick the way, because that’s a part of him no one but Shiro has ever touched.

He guesses Sven slicked himself cursorily with spit, because it’s an easy glide, hot and wet between his legs, and Sven lets himself falls forward, presses his chest to Keith’s back and Keith moans and writhes and reaches back helplessly to grab at Sven’s thigh, nails digging into the skin as he gasps, “Faster,” and when Sven growls in response Keith has to bite back Shiro’s name.

Sven’s panting, moaning against Keith’s neck and mouthing at his pulse point, hips snapping faster and the noise is obscene and Keith knows he’s pooling pre-come onto the floor, cock hard between his legs but not trusting himself to stay upright on only one hand, so Keith goes untouched and cries in desperation, forcing Sven’s name out of his mouth.

“ _Keith_ ,” Sven gasps, and Keith guesses he’s close, squeezes his thighs harder together, giving Sven the tightest possible space to thrust into, and the motion is the same, a steady in and out that feels anticlimactic when Keith thinks of what he could have, thinks of Sven’s cock buried inside him and Sven’s hand around his cock, but it’s enough to have this, just this, when Keith thought he would never have Shiro again.

Sven bites at the juncture where neck meets shoulder and Keith cries out in surprise, voice breaking with it and suddenly wishing Sven would be rougher, would shove him down and bite his neck until no one could doubt what happened in here, until Keith could watch marks darken and then fade for a whole week, safe in the knowledge that he bore Shiro’s marks and nothing could touch him.

He cries out again when Sven’s hand suddenly comes to wrap around his cock, grip firm and squeezing and just how Keith likes it, and he could cry again from that familiarity, how Sven so clearly knows him but  _doesn’t_ , and he comes with a wail as Sven thumbs the head of his cock and bites at his shoulder and thrusts hard between his thighs.

It’s Shiro’s name that bursts from his throat in a scream, Shiro’s name Keith sobs as he comes down, “Shiro,  _Shiro_ ,” spilling from him as he pants and cries and can’t help the tears slipping down his cheeks.

Sven’s grip tightens but he says nothing, panting against Keith’s neck and Keith thinks he hears him moaning, “Keith, God,  _Keith_ ,” and his blood thrums with bitter discontent that Sven's Keith carries the same name, that he gets to pretend just a little bit more.

Though when Sven finally comes, he chokes out, “ _Akira_ ,” and Keith thinks perhaps it wasn't so simple.

They lie together for only a moment before Sven pulls out and off, and Keith collapses a little further, hips angled away from his own mess but otherwise uncaring of the state he’s in, feeling the loss of warmth and contact like a real physical ache.

He feels filthy, inside and out, wet with their come and guilty with abandoning his team, abandoning  _Shiro_.

 _But it was Shiro_ , he thinks desperately.  _It was._

He hears the rustle of fabric behind him and finally straightens, getting onto his knees and turning to face Sven, who’s pulling a cloth from the pockets of his uniform, face red and sheepish but undeniably satisfied, and it’s stupidly comforting to see Shiro’s content expression echoed in Sven’s.

“Here,” Sven says, and he avoids Keith’s eyes as he passes the cloth, and Keith flushes dark as he wipes gingerly between his legs, inner thighs, over his stomach. Sven’s doing the same, and after a moment’s hesitation he retrieves the scattered pieces of Keith’s armour and lays them tentatively beside him.

“Thank you,” Keith says, very softly.

“It is nothing.”

The statement stings, somehow.

Sven dresses with his back to Keith, and Keith watches unfamiliar scars disappear beneath clothing and mourns the loss of a Shiro he will never get to know.

His own armour is trickier; it’s unpleasant to slide the bodysuit over skin going tacky with sweat, for it to cling where he’s starting to get sore between his legs, and Keith finds his elbows and knees are rubbed raw, wincing as he clicks plates of armour into place.

When he glances up, Sven’s watching him.

“I have to link up with Slav,” he says stiffly, and the immediate return to business, to pretending this never happened, hurts. “You should not be seen with me. The Alteans – “

“I know,” Keith says, suddenly exhausted, and his pleasure has turned sour, a sickly feeling rising in his throat and churning in his belly the longer he looks into Shiro’s eyes. “I have to get back.”

Everything in him fights the endless walk to the hidden door, but Keith forces one foot in front of the other.

“Keith,” Sven calls, and Keith turns so fast his bayard clacks against his hip. “Don’t trust the Alteans,” is all he says, imploring. “Make the right decision.”

“I will,” Keith says, and it tastes bitter in his mouth.

He wants to say thank you, wants to say sorry, wants to stay – but Keith turns, takes a deep breath, and lets the door shut behind him.

_I’m sorry, Shiro._

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment if you enjoyed, and you can find me on twitter at twitter.com/starboysheith and tumblr at starboykeith.tumblr.com !


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